


Saeran Oneshots

by saey-bae (JourneysBeginning)



Series: Mysme Oneshots [1]
Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: 707 | Luciel Choi's Real Name, Angst, Angst and Feels, Attempt at Humor, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-05-10 08:01:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 5,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14733083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JourneysBeginning/pseuds/saey-bae
Summary: A bunch of Saeran drabbles. Re-vamped and cross-posted from my Tumblr, saey-bae. Angst, fluff, humour.***Saeran’s hand reaches out of its own accord and grazes over your cheek, brows creasing.He doesn’t quite understand you.***“Are you eating the cupcakes I prepared for the RFA meeting tomorrow?”Saeran slowly lowers the pretty pink cupcake wrapper from his mouth and chews the cake he had just popped in, licking the frosting off his lips. Without breaking eye contact, he subtly pushes aside the large pile of cupcake wrappers and the cupcake platter. “No.”***Saeran scowls slightly, though the expression is marred by the rush of pink that rises in his cheeks; suddenly, his aura isn’t so much commanding as it is pouty. It’s rare for him to act like a spoiled child, but your boyfriend does have tendencies to glare at you while reluctantly asking for the cutest things.





	1. Abstruse

**Author's Note:**

> Abstruse [adj.] - hard to understand; recondite; esoteric:

_3 am. What an ungodly hour._

Saeran runs a hand through his messy white locks, stifling a yawn as he peers into the endless glowing codes on his computer screen. He musn’t feel tired or the Savior will think him ungrateful, and she might make him another vial of elixir. He swears he’s anything but ungrateful, really. She’s shown him paradise, a place where he has meaning, a place where he _belongs_. 

His eyes flicker over to the cameras, briefly scanning across the screens for any signs of trouble, but the moment his gaze lands on the camera placed in your room, he can’t seem to move on to the next screen. You’re curled up in the middle of the large bed, head nestled in one of the plush pillows, sound asleep.

It looks so peaceful. _You_ look so peaceful, despite the turmoil surrounding you. 

The image sparks a boiling anger in the pit of his stomach, a flame that slowly licks up his core. How _dare_ you look so calm in your sleep when tries his best to hurt you, when all he wants to do is derail you, when he wants to you suffer like he has? You should be screaming and thrashing in your sleep, haunted by nightmares, like he has. Because if he’s stronger than you, then you should be hurting more than him; you should be the one sobbing into your hands in the middle of the night, trying to rid yourself of the monsters in your head while he sleeps peacefully. Yet, even in his own little slice of paradise, _you're_ the one sleeping and _he's_ the one who has to pick up his own pieces.

He hates this paradise–

_No, Saeran, you’re happy here. You’re grateful._ Saeran’s jaw clenches, back teeth grinding. He's biting his tongue hard enough to draw blood, as if he were trying to stop himself from saying those words out loud.

“That’s right. I like it here," he snaps to no one in particular, listening as his voice echoes in the large, empty room. His voice grows louder, straining. "I like my duty to Mint Eye. I like my Savior. This girl’s weak words of encouragement mean nothing. And she’s getting too comfortable, so I’m going to have to put her in her place.”

And he gets to his feet and leaves the computer room before he can convince himself of otherwise. 

His feet drag him to the familiar sight of your bedroom door and, before he knows it, he’s opening the door and crossing the threshold. Your sweet scent fills the room, floods his senses– he loves the smell of you, but it’s intoxicating. It distracts him, it makes his throbbing headache more bearable. The scent has Ray begging to come out and see you, but Saeran isn’t going to give him the time of day.

He hates your effect on him.

Saeran walks over to the side of your bed and takes a seat at the edge of the mattress, the soft foam dipping beneath his weight. He’s about to shake you awake so he can muster up some anger to unleash on you, knowing it'd make him feel somewhat better, but then you whisper his name in your sleep and his would-be anger dissipates instantly, replaced by shock.

_What…?_

You turn in your sleep, and he freezes, afraid you’ll wake. But you only settle back down, the same serene expression resting on your face.

He doesn’t understand… he’s been hurting you… torturing you… trying to break you… _yet you still whisper his name with the faintest smile gracing your lips?_

Saeran’s hand reaches out of its own accord and grazes over your cheek, brows creasing.

He doesn’t quite understand you.

_He doesn't quite understand himself, either._


	2. Contumacious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contumacious [adj.] - stubbornly perverse or rebellious; willfully and obstinately disobedient

Saeran’s sitting in the living room, playing around with the new camera you got him for Christmas when he feels something poke at his shoulder.

His eyes lift from the screen to look up at you, though something else catches his attention before he can meet your gaze and see the tiny smirk playing on your lips.

“I’m not wearing that thing, MC.”

“Why not? It’s our first Valentine’s day together, Saeran– we should let the world know we’re dating,” you singsong.

“In that monstrocity?” He narrows his eyes at the sweater in your hands. It’s pink and furry. It’s two sizes too big. It has a large, cheesy picture of a teddy bear on the front. It’ll ruin his aesthetic. “Sorry, I’m ugly sweater averse from now on.”

“ _Please_. I have a matching one in red.”

“No.”

But the way you pout at him has his resolve wavering. Oh god, why did you have to look so damn cute? Was it worth it to wear the hideous sweater to appease you, like he did during the weeks leading up to Christmas?

He remembers the horrific multi-coloured patchwork reindeer sweater you made him wear last season and the pictures Saeyoung took of him. Yoosung still posts them in the RFA chatroom every so often. On second thought…

_Nope. Not happening again._

“Saeran,” you whine softly, dropping into his lap as your arms wrapped around his waist. _Oh, you’re good._

“I’m not wearing that thing, MC. End of story.”

But then his brother walks by and catches sight of the sweater. Saeran can practically see the hearts in his eyes.

“If Saeran won’t wear it, I will!” Saeyoung says with a grin, reaching out for the pink carpet in your lap.

“Back off, you idiot.” Saeran slaps his hand away instantly, feeling a rush of jealousy at the thought of his twin wearing matching sweaters with you on Valentine’s day.  _  
_

_Like hell that’s happening._ _  
_

He wraps his free arm around you, his hand closing around the sweater possessively. “MC bought it for _me_. It’s _mine_.”

And while Saeran tugs the sweater over his head with a newfound determination, you and Saeyoung exchange grins and a fist bump. 


	3. Voracious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voracious [adj.] - ravenous, insatiable

“Mm…” You open your eyes slowly, and your gaze flickers to the clock on the nightstand instinctively. The fluorescent green glow stares back. _2:36 am?_ What ever possessed you to wake up at this time?

You turn onto your side and close your eyes, prepared to snuggle back into your boyfriend’s arms. When you don’t find those pairs of arms waiting for you, you feel around the empty spot on the mattress next to you, only to find a Saeran-shaped dent. 

Your boyfriend has a habit of slipping out of bed when he can’t sleep –usually because of night terrors or depressing thoughts he can’t put to rest– and the awful feeling in your gut tells you it’s another one of those times. You’re wide awake in an instant.

You slip out of bed and cut across the living room to the kitchen, where the light is turned on. “Hey baby, are you alri–” you cut yourself off, your eyes narrowing as you take in the sight of the view before you. “ _Are you eating the cupcakes I prepared for the RFA meeting tomorrow?_ ”

Saeran looks at you with wide eyes, like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It isn’t far from that scenario, anyway.

He slowly lowers the pretty pink cupcake wrapper from his mouth and chews the cake he had just popped in, licking the frosting off his lips. Without breaking eye contact, he subtly pushes aside the large pile of cupcake wrappers and the cupcake platter. “No.”

“There’s pink frosting all over your cheeks.” You cock a brow as walk over to him.

“Sorry.” He blushes when you rise on your tiptoes and lap off some of the frosting, though his eyes darken when your tongue trails to his bottom lip. Hey, you had to be diligent and get all the frosting! “You aren’t mad?”

“I had a slight feeling this might have happened while I was baking. I hid another platter somewhere else.” Your finger traces over his chest coyly. “Or are you asking because you want me to punish you?”

Before he has a chance to answer, Saeyoung walks into the kitchen, pink frosting covering his cheeks and an empty platter in hand. His eyes widen at the sight of you, and he turns to walk right back out.

“ _Saeyoung, that better not be the second platter_.” 

But the other Choi boy is gone like the wind.

You sigh, shaking your head as you look up at your boyfriend. “What am I going to do with you two?”

“Ignore him.” Saeran leans down to give you a kiss that tastes of sweet vanilla frosting. It contrasts greatly against the sudden heat in his low voice. “What did you say you were going to do with me?”


	4. Languid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Languid [adj.] – lacking energy or vitality; slow; relaxed; unenergetic; lazy

“Give me your legs.”

“Come again?” You blink at your boyfriend, lowering the sandwich that was halfway to your mouth.

Saeran scowls slightly, though the expression is marred by the rush of pink that rises in his cheeks; suddenly, his aura isn’t so much commanding as it is pouty. It’s rare for him to act like a spoiled child, but your boyfriend does have tendencies to glare at you while reluctantly asking for the cutest things. “I want to sleep.”

You repress a smile and set your sandwich aside before straightening out your legs on the picnic blanket, careful not to knock over any of the remaining food in the Tupperware containers. “C'mere then.”

He scoots over and lays down, resting his head on your lap. Despite asking for this, his blush has darkened. He doesn’t say a word, merely nestles and shifts until he’s found a comfortable spot. And after that, he looks… serene.

Above the two of you, the aged willow tree you had decided to set up a picnic beneath stands strong, though its pliable branches sway with the warm summer breeze. The pleasant gust of wind contrasts delightfully against the cool shade beneath the tree.

Your eyes close and you let out a contented sigh. The world seems so small and quiet and lovely when you’re surrounded by nature. Even more so when you’re with the one you love. For a moment, all you can feel is the weight of Saeran’s head on your lap and all you can hear is to the quiet rustling of leaves, until,

“Thanks.”

It’s a barely audible murmur, but you hear it, and your eyes flicker open to glance down at the redheaded man curled up in your lap. He doesn’t say a word as you caress his cheek fondly. He doesn’t say a word when you begin to run your fingers through his hair tenderly, the way he likes it.

But his mouth does tilt up in a faint smile, the only indication that he feels as happy and whole as you do.

And some time between your gentle caresses and listening to the small world revolve in its unhurried state, he’s lulled into a peaceful sleep.


	5. Words (NSFW)

Saeran reaches out and pulls you back against him gently, brushing a tender kiss to nape of your neck. The red and purple bruises decorating your shoulders and neck are softened by the glow of the morning light, but he knows the marked flesh is still tender, achy. He swears he’ll leave ten kisses for each mark he’s made on you.

 “What do you think you’re doing, getting all comfortable? We just woke up,“ he mumbles when you nestle back against him, but his voice lacks its usual bite. He shifts in bed, shimmying off the thick covers, but it's no use; it isn't the warmth of the covers lulling him back to sleep, it's _you_. “You’re getting lazy.” 

“That isn’t fair,” you toss back, your words coming out languidly, drowsily. The smile in your voice isn’t lost upon him. “I was kept awake all night and attacked first thing in the morning.” 

“Is that so?” he hums in return, though he can’t help but smile, too. _I did this to her. I’ve left every mark I could, inside and out. She belongs to me in this moment, in every following moment, and every moment prior to now. She’s mine for now and forever._

Saeran’s chest tightens as he buries his face in your neck, feeling familiar words catch in his throat. They are tender words he can never bring himself to say, so he swallows them back and pulls you closer instead. Your bare body is warm and sweaty against his own, but it’s a feeling that he welcomes more than anything.

“Saeran?”

He hums again, his heavy lids closing as he succumbs to his own need for a little more rest. “What is it?” 

“I love you, Saeran,” you whisper, your voice soft and yielding, and his eyes flicker open to meet yours.

He’s met by the sight of your eyes, by the sight of the sunlight catching in them and highlighting your irises in an array of tens of thousands of streaks and shades he can’t hope to recreate. Your eyes look like an embodiment of warmth to him. Your eyes look like they’ve captured the sun.

_How can one person hold so much beauty? How can one person make my heart race like this, even after so long? Why can’t I ever tell this to the one who means the most to me?_

He knows he can’t bring himself to say anything out loud, so he presses a kiss to another love bite instead… then another and another and another. Perhaps his gentle touch can tell you what his sharp tongue can’t.

 _I’m sorry I’m no good with words._ He says his silent apology as he continues to press reverent kisses to your skin blindly. He thinks he’s pressed enough kisses to make up for each mark he’s left, but he doesn’t stop.

He lets his lips trace over the bruises, lets his tongue soothe the ache you must still feel, lets his actions say more than he can ever vocalize.

He doesn’t stop until your breathing is slow and even.

And only in the brief moments before he drifts off does he whisper, “I love you, too. More than you’ll ever know.” His words hang in the silence of the sunlit room; it is the quietest, most tender profession of love he can offer.

He hopes that someday, when he can bring himself to say them to you face to face, they’ll be good enough for you.


	6. Unassailable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unassailable [adj.] – protected from attack or assault; undeniable; unquestionable

“Don’t touch me, _toy_.” Saeran shakes your hand off his forearm, his jaw clenched. You take a lot of liberties for someone who’s so utterly useless.

He takes a step forward, hoping to see fear on your face, hoping to feel that rush whenever he gains the upper hand… but you stand your ground and meet his gaze unwaveringly. A pin drop silence settles in your moonlit bedroom, save for your mingling breaths.

“Growing bold, are you?” he asks, but you’ve been tenacious since day one. No matter how many times he’s tried to break you, you’ve never crumbled… _Why?_

“There’s no reason for me to cower.”

“ _Yes, there is!_ ” Saeran’s hands find your shoulders and he slams you against the wall, overtaken by a sudden anger. That arrogance, that pride– he wants to see it shatter. He wants to see _you_ shatter. “You’re weak, good for nothing! I’m stronger than you! _It’s only right for the weak to fear the strong_.”

But his words are coming out a little more desperately than they used to, as if he’s trying to convince himself of what he’s saying. And if you catch on, you don’t say a word; instead, you gently lay a hand on his forearm once more as his minor crisis plays out.

“I told you not to touch me, airhead,” he says through gritted teeth, his voice too loud for the close proximity the two of you stand in. But he doesn’t move your hand away.

“Saeran…”

“You’re weaker than I am. You _are_.” Yet, here he is, doubting himself. Doubting his own words. Doubting you, and where you stand. His head is throbbing, but he manages to let out a harsh, grating laugh. “I can’t wait until your cleansing ceremony. Then you’ll see how hopeless you really are.”

“You seem to be in pain,” you say softly, your voice even.

“It’s your damn scent. I thought I told you to get rid of it.” But at some point, he had subconsciously leaned forward even further because the scent of you reduced the pounding in his head. He glares at you as if it’s your fault. “It disgusts me.”

“You look tired.” You’re completely disregarding his words now, looking up at him in… pity? No– worry.

Who are you to worry about him all the time? You should be fearing for yourself! But his heart pangs at the sight because you’re worrying for him, despite being in a bleak situation yourself.

He withdraws, hands clenched into fists, confusion contorting his thoughts. “Keep making mention of it and I’ll have the Saviour move up the date of your cleansing ceremony.”

Without another word, he spins on his heel and leaves the room because if he stays any longer, he thinks he might actually do something he’ll regret… yield to you.


	7. Tacit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tacit [adj.] – understood without being spoken; implied

“Saeran?”

“Yes?” Your boyfriend glances over at you from his place at the dining table, his hands stilling over the Arabian Jasmine plant he’s tending to. The sweet, fragrant scent of the flowers fill the room and the warm sunshine streaming into the room catches on the dust particles hanging in the air, highlighting them like fairy dust. Time seems to crawl by lethargically.

Up until the point you had said his name, the small, quaint house that the two of you now called home remained silent, the air filled with unspoken words. That didn’t need to be said. You sat on the couch reading your magazine, while Saeran snipped away at his bush, taming the leaves with a pair of scissors; there was nothing to be said, no amount of love that needed to be communicated through words that hadn’t been said before.

When you had first started living together, these silences were thought to be awkward: the two of you would try to fill it with clunky words; phrases that jutted out of place; with stilted conversations that had no beginning nor an ending, yet they had no substance in-between, either. The two of you hadn’t realized that there was a certain love and peace in silence that words couldn’t emulate.

And now that you’re observing Saeran, seeing the slight smile curve his lips, seeing the way his hands hover over the plant, seeing how he’s slouching in a way that must be terrible for his spine… you’ve become aware that the two of you have come a long way since then. Somewhere between awkward phrases and comfortable silences, the two of you had learned how to love without words or touch. 

Because you could be sitting all the away across the room, like you’re doing now, and still feel the warmth of his presence. You could hear the words, “I love you,” without ever having them leave his lips, though he still likes to remind you of them often, sometimes randomly during these quiet moments.

Moments like these, ones that you used to dread, have become your most treasured memories, and you hold them close to your heart.

“Y/N?” He tilts his head at you, his scissors lowering.

“I love you.”

These words seem to come out of thin air, unprompted and unbidden, but he doesn’t question it; instead, he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he regards you such warmth that the butterflies in your stomach give a little flutter. “I love you, too.”

And you wonder if Saeran’s random “I love you” moments weren’t so random after all because, surely, he had to be feeling the same warmth in his heart, too.


	8. Diffident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Diffident [adj.] – lacking self-confidence; hesitant; unconfident

“We’re tending to your flowers?” 

“Roses,” Ray amends, soft and bashful. He turns to glance over his shoulder, watching as you follow him along the stone path. It takes some effort to lift his eyes from the skirt swishing at your knees, and even more effort to pose a question. “Will you walk next to me?”

Wordlessly, you move to covet the spot next to him, walking close enough that your shoulder brushes against his arm. You smile at him and he averts his eyes in response, certain that his cheeks are tinted pink. 

Your features aren’t spectacular, aren’t extraordinary, aren’t otherworldly, but he’s never known anyone more beautiful. He’s never known anyone so warm.

“Th-the rose bushes are over to the left.” His mumble is nearly carried off by the wind. “Be careful, the steps are usually wet in the morning.”

 “Alright.” That’s what comes out of your mouth, but your gaze is fixed on the bushes around the bend. You gasp in awe. “They’re beautiful! I’ve never seen so many blue roses before.”   

But when you take an eager step forward, you’re quick to slip, forgetting his quiet warning. Ray’s even quicker, though, and his arm finds its way around your waist, steadying. 

The two of you stare at one another for a moment, silent, and then he’s retracting his arm, feeling shame and regret burn in his cheeks as he whisks himself back a step.

“I-I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean to– to–”

”Please don’t apologize.” Your hand comes to rest on his forearm, gentle and reassuring. He meets your eyes and he realizes there’s no anger in them, just the same warmth he’s known since he met you. “That was my fault; I forgot what you said. Thanks for catching me.”

“You’re not mad?” His probing is cautious at best. 

Your eyes crinkle, and the barbed wires around his heart dissolve. “No, of course not. Can we go look at the roses?”

“Y-yes, of course.” 

 _I’m going to watch you more carefully this time,_ he promises silently. He’s going to walk from behind, so he can keep an eye on you. He won’t let you fall, not if he can help it. 

This plan works for approximately half a minute before you glance at him over your shoulder. Then you hold your hand out towards him, smiling, and ask, “Will you walk beside me?”

And when he takes your hand, he thinks he’s found _home_ – a home that the rose garden could never compare to. For once, he thinks he won’t quite mind leaving the roses to tend themselves if it means he gets to hold onto your hand for a little longer. 


	9. Mendacious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mendacious [adj.] deceptive

_Mine._

The ugly word rattles in Saeran’s mind, knocking along the inside of his skull like a loose screw; it echoes in the way his fingers close around the dip of your waist in a bruising hold, makes itself known as he yanks you close enough that your warmth and scent fill his senses. 

And, for a moment, his limbs, heavy with exhaustion, cease their protests. It’s not enough for him, though– you’re far too soft, too tender in his grip, and he’s greedy. 

His hands grasp for more, clutching you to his chest as he sinks into you, though he doesn’t find the reprieve he searches so desperately for when he realizes you’ve stiffened under his touch.

(For once, he wishes he could see the tender look in your eyes– the one you used to greet Ray with so often, but never him.) 

“Saeran, what are you doing?” Your sleep-heavy voice comes out muffled, breath warming his shoulder. He doesn’t miss the way your frame trembles, no longer stiff, but a dying leaf against the autumn winds. Pliable, bending to his whims. 

_Afraid._

He bares his teeth, a jagged slash of white in the darkness of your room; the sentiment of a smile is lost in his expression. “I messaged the chatroom twice and you didn’t answer me.” 

“It’s 4 am…” 

“ _So?_ ” 

“So I’m tired and I’m asleep.” 

“Then wake up.” His grasp tightens, almost painful. “You don’t do anything during the day– there’s nothing to tire you out.”    

“I’m not going to wake up to cater to you every night.” You push against his chest, peering up at him with narrowed eyes. You’ve grown bold. “I’m not here for your personal entertainment.”

“Don’t fool yourself. You know your place here.” His mirthless grin widens. “You’re my toy. The _only_ reason you’re here is for my own entertainment.”

“I’m here to test out a game. I’m not interested in getting involved with you.” 

“You say this, yet you answered dutifully when Ray messaged you. You were available at all hours of the day for that weakling.”   

Your first breath catches in your throat audibly, but the words fall on your second: “I’m only here because of Ray. _I’m only staying because of Ray._ I am not your _toy._ ” 

And for a moment, the world falls silent, and Saeran is vaguely aware of the way his malleable heart twists.

The saviour has always said he’s weak, and she’s never wrong.

“Saeran–” 

“What could that weakling ever do for you? Cry?” It’s a sneer that comes out far too pettily for his own liking. “He’s useless. Worthless.”

“Wait–”

”Don’t get your hopes up, got it? He’s never coming back. As long as you stay here, you’re my toy, and you’ll obey me.”

“Saeran–”  

“If I message the chatroom, you’ll answer it, regardless of the time. I don’t care if you’re sleeping. I don’t care if I have to come here every night to wake you up. If you need to be cleansed to be obedient, I’ll have the saviour perform the ceremony first thing tomorrow. You _will_ listen to me.” 

“I’m not trying to–” 

“Then don’t speak. Listen and obey.” 

“Hey.”

Your hand snakes up between the two of you, cutting him off as you brush at his cheek with a tenderness he’s never known. Suddenly, you’ve made him aware of something warm and wet, but not entirely foreign. 

His arms fall from you and he backs away, his hand raising to graze his cheek where your fingers had just rested. “You have a lot of nerve to touch me like that.”

He snaps at you, but he’s flailing now, realizing he had touched a flame he shouldn’t have gone near in the first place.   

(But his heart feels so cold now that he’s left.)

“Saeran, I’m sorry, I…” 

“Sorry for what?” He laughs a horrible, grating laugh, even as another tear falls down his cheek. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, toy.”

You don’t respond to that, though your eyes follow him. He can see pity in the furrow of your brow, and he wishes he could say something to rid you of that expression, but his throat is too tight.

All he can do is stumble back, hand scrambling for the doorknob as he makes his quick escape. Only after he leaves your room do the rest of the tears fall and, for once, he doesn’t know how to make them stop.

_She’s mine, isn’t she?_


	10. Elixir (Part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit

“Go on. What are you waiting for?” The Savior watches him, impatience colouring her tone. “We had an agreement, Ray. You’ve been shirking your duties.”

“Yes, Savior.” He exhales shakily, weight the heavy glass bottle in his hand. Luminous green liquid fills it to the brim. He’s never taken so much elixir in one go before. He can’t imagine what it will be like for you.

Ray’s eyes lower to you, narrowing at the way you’ve been kneeled before him, arms restricted by two believers. You stare back up at him, partly in defiance and partly in sorrow. It leaves a bitter taste and a painful stab of déjà vu.

“Please,” you mouth, pleading, and his heart wrenches. For the briefest moment, Ray considers smashing the bottle… but what then? How would you escape from a cell?

“If you won’t do it, I will.”

“N-no, I’ll do it.” His hands shake as he uncaps the bottle, but he’s been trained meticulously to treat the elixir like liquid gold– he doesn’t spill a drop. He reaches over, cupping your chin gently, and he hopes his eyes convey… something. Anything. Everything.

_I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m sorry I’m so weak and useless. I’m sorry I can’t protect you._

_I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry_

You open your mouth for him obediently, and he wonders if this is the first and last cruelty you’ll ever deal him as yourself. Then you drink.

His eyes mist over as you choke and splutter and gag on the elixir. It dribbles down the corners of your mouth and onto your black dress. It steals the colour from your cheeks. It’s made a mess of you. Tears run down your cheeks and, halfway through the bottle, you stop swallowing. He keeps pouring until the bottle is empty.

“Take her back to her room,” Rika says sharply, after Ray hands her back the empty bottle. There’s pleasure in her malicious tone, and it makes his stomach churn.

“I-I’ll take her, Savior.” At his insistence, she debates silently for a moment, then sighs before granting him the small comfort. The guards let go of you, and you flop over, no more than a ragdoll.

He watches them leave before kneeling down next to you, gathering your limp body in his arms. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out, pressing your head to his chest. He sobs, clutching you to himself desperately. “I’m sorry. I’m so weak. I’m so worthless…”

Amidst his self-loathing, some part of him wonders if you’ll ever be… the same again. And, later, when you slowly shift, he breaks away to peer into your eyes.

And he gets an answer.

_I’m so sorry. Sorrysorrysorrysorrysorrysorry._

_But sorry won’t fix you._


	11. Elixir (part 2)

It’s been two months since you had first taken the elixir.

 _Two months_ , Ray muses to himself, glancing down at the tray in his hand, _is a long time._

He continues through the halls, careful to keep the dishes on the tray from spilling. Especially the large bottle of elixir. When he reaches your room, he knocks on the door twice. Softly.

Your headaches must be worse than his, after all.

“Come in,” comes your tired voice. He opens the door slowly, peeking in. Then he ducks back out when a pillow comes flying at him, then a second. You usually don’t have the strength for a third pillow, but he waits.

When you make no indication of throwing any more pillows, he enters the room and makes a beeline for your king-sized bed. You lay there, draped across the mattress limply, thinner than when you first arrived. Worryingly so. Your eyes, now matching his own, look up at him dazedly. Seeing through him.

“It’s time for dinner,” he says gently, sitting at the edge of the mattress. 

“I don’t want it,” you mutter.

“We’ll start with the elixir so you don’t have to take it at the end, alright?” Ray can hardly believe those words have become so easy to say at each meal. But he knows it’s more merciful to have you take it. If he does what Rika says, she won’t hurt you anymore than she already has, right?

“I don’t want it,” you repeat, your voice hoarse. “Please don’t make me take it, Ray.”

“You’ll be okay, I promise.” He scoots over closer, bringing you to his lap as he picks up the bottle and uncaps it. A spike of guilt lodges in his ribcage when he sees tears form in your eyes, but he tries to ignore it.

_I love you. This is the best for you._

Once you finish the bottle, your eyes have returned to a state of nothingness. _Empty._ It’s something he’s grown accustomed to. He props a few pillows and helps you sit up, but you hardly acknowledge him. He sets the dinner tray next to you, but you don’t respond.

“I’ll see you later tonight, then, Y/N,” Ray says quietly. He leaves, not quite knowing what to do. Not knowing right from wrong anymore. 

But the line is drawn starkly when Ray walks into your room one morning and you are not there. He sets the tray down quickly, glances around the room and under the bed. 

He has come to expect many things from you, but this is not one of them.

“Mr. Ray, someone’s been found in the garden,” a believer calls from the door nearly an hour later, as he’s rifling through the closet. 

“And what about them?” Ray can’t keep the irritation from his voice as he digs through the gowns.

“No, Mr. Ray, someone’s _been found_ in the garden _._ ” 

He glances at the believer this time, surprised to find that the man’s hood is off, that he’s badly shaken. Believers don’t _feel_ things, they’re not _supposed_ to feel things unless–

“What do you…” Ray falls silent, finally hearing what’s being said. “Who’s in the garden?”

“No one.”

Tears fill his eyes and the lump in his throat swells painfully. _Wrong choice, wrong choice._ How does he restart? How does he fix this mess? He wants to shout, but only a trembling whisper comes out, “ _Who_ is in the garden?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for not responding to all of the comments I've been receiving (you all have been so, so kind!), as AO3 is bugging out on me. I will reply as soon as I can! Thank you so much for reading!


	12. Warmth

The warmth of your lips, they’re addictive.

“You’ve never done this before?” you breathe out after you’ve parted from him.

Ray shakes his head, slow. Perhaps still in shock from what’s just happened. His eyes are fixed on your puffy red lips, though, noting how soft and pretty they look. He wants to feel that again, he wants to feel and taste your warmth.

But he isn’t in any position to dirty you with himself a second time.

“Was that okay?” he asks, his voice small as he pulls away. In the dim bedroom, lit only by cold moonlight, drawing away from you feels lonely, uncertain. Like a boat lost at sea, untethered, lost.

But then your hand reaches out and wraps around his own, and he can feel your heat through his glove. There is no hesitation in your movements as you draw him in close, so close.

“That was perfect,” you answer, glittering eyes seeking his own in the darkness. You’re close enough that he can kiss you now, if you’d like.

He means to ask, but then you whisper, “Can I kiss you again?“

And he nods, closing his eyes as you lean your weight on his shoulders, tippy toeing.

Only, your lips don’t touch his. They touch his forehead. Then the curve of his brow, then his temple, then the slope of his nose.

You lean into him as you kiss him, holding him so close that he can feel you breathe. Your breaths are steady and even and they  _ground_  him, drawing him into the moment. Into you. And he subconsciously curls into you as you kiss his jaw, so close that your bodies know no distance.

Something breaks in him when you kiss his cheek, though. It’s different. Soft, reverent, like he’ll shatter beneath your touch. No one’s ever touched him like that before. Heat burns at his eyes until he can’t hold the tears back anymore; when they roll down his face, you brush them away.

“Are you okay?” you whisper.

“Yes,” he whispers back, shakily. “Pl-please…”

_Don’t stop._

You don’t. You don’t stop until you’ve kissed every inch of his face, until you’ve let him know your tender touch. Your love.

And when your lips finally meet his own, it’s in a soft, chaste kiss, with all the warmth he first tasted.


End file.
